Not every wizard or witch can conjure up a Patronus. It requires a certain
high level of magical ability to start with, of course. Beyond that, it
requires - a happy moment? Well, maybe not so straightforward as that. A
memory sufficient for a pixie-dust induced bit of flight won't do it.
No, it requires a memory of a moment in which you believed that there is some greater good and beauty in this world. Lockhart may take great joy in the fine cut of an expensive coat, but he will never have a coat as his Patronus. Ron's youthful infatuation with the Chudly Cannons, no matter how much delight they gave him, wouldn't conjure him a Seeker-shaped Patronus. A fine distinction maybe, but... the form that the Patronus takes does say something about the conjurer.
And so Severus had not conjured a Patronus in the company of any other conscious person since his NEWTs. The bland-faced wizard with the nails bitten to the quick had merely observed that Severus could make one and made a tick on the wad of parchment in front of him, but Severus knew that some of his Slytherin classmates might guess the significance. And that would not do, not for a good Slytherin, not for a good Death Eater, and for certain, as his father would explain to him amidst blows if he were ever to hear of it, for certain not for a good Snape. And so he stocked his arsenal of spells with curses and hexes that would serve as a replacement. Even after those who could perhaps guess the significance were dead or surely uninterested, he did not cast one where it could be seen. His reputation became that of a truly cold and soulless bastard, one who could not eke enough happiness out of himself to conjure a Patronus, for surely he had the skill?
But he could not avoid it forever. For instance, one night, as he was returning from a Death Eaters meeting, exhausted, twitching with the aftereffects of Cruciatus (the Dark Lord had not been pleased at the plans that had been thwarted; although Snape had carefully concealed his delicate works of sabotage to make it look, in the end, like simply bad luck, the Dark Lord tended to lash out at his followers indiscriminately when plans went awry, just, as he put it, 'to build morale'). He stumbled through the dark forest, trying to find an outlet, or a clearing with a view of stars, some way to identify where he was so he could apparate back to Hogsmede. He heard the howling of werewolves, and what memories that brought back...
He broke into a run, brambles, branches, and weeds reaching to grab at his clothes and face like disembodied hands. In his flight from the wolves, he disturbed a prowling snake - oh, the irony - and felt the sting of its bite on his leg, and again, and stumbled and fell as a numbness started to seep into that leg. He threw a disinterest spell at the snake, and it slithered off. But the wolves were coming, and they can smell panic; they were coming straight for him.
And so he cast - "Expecto patronum."
From the end of his wand sprang a butterfly, a lovely, bright thing, with delicate tracings of black and gold decorating the red of her outspread wings. The werewolves balked, snarled, and howled, confused and alarmed, before finally retreating back into the deep forest, pursued by this gentle creature of light. With this moment of freedom, Snape swallowed a general healing potion he carried for emergencies; it would slow the bite's poison long enough for him to reach Hogwart's, and his stock of more specific remedies. He staggered back to his feet and limped to an area where the trees thinned enough to place himself. He apparated to Hogsmede, and began the long, halting walk up to the imposing gates of Hogwart's.
She had showed so few people her Animagus form; she was not the type to agree to be registered, monitored, controlled. Ah, yes, that's why he lost her, wasn't it. Yet, despite the fact that he did, and she married that man he hated so, and that he was unable to save her life that terrible night, and that she left a boy behind with her lovely eyes set in that hated man's features, to remind him, over and over, of the mistakes of his past... despite all of that, he knew that she was something beautiful and good in this world, and that when he called, it would be the memory of her grace that would save him.
No, it requires a memory of a moment in which you believed that there is some greater good and beauty in this world. Lockhart may take great joy in the fine cut of an expensive coat, but he will never have a coat as his Patronus. Ron's youthful infatuation with the Chudly Cannons, no matter how much delight they gave him, wouldn't conjure him a Seeker-shaped Patronus. A fine distinction maybe, but... the form that the Patronus takes does say something about the conjurer.
And so Severus had not conjured a Patronus in the company of any other conscious person since his NEWTs. The bland-faced wizard with the nails bitten to the quick had merely observed that Severus could make one and made a tick on the wad of parchment in front of him, but Severus knew that some of his Slytherin classmates might guess the significance. And that would not do, not for a good Slytherin, not for a good Death Eater, and for certain, as his father would explain to him amidst blows if he were ever to hear of it, for certain not for a good Snape. And so he stocked his arsenal of spells with curses and hexes that would serve as a replacement. Even after those who could perhaps guess the significance were dead or surely uninterested, he did not cast one where it could be seen. His reputation became that of a truly cold and soulless bastard, one who could not eke enough happiness out of himself to conjure a Patronus, for surely he had the skill?
But he could not avoid it forever. For instance, one night, as he was returning from a Death Eaters meeting, exhausted, twitching with the aftereffects of Cruciatus (the Dark Lord had not been pleased at the plans that had been thwarted; although Snape had carefully concealed his delicate works of sabotage to make it look, in the end, like simply bad luck, the Dark Lord tended to lash out at his followers indiscriminately when plans went awry, just, as he put it, 'to build morale'). He stumbled through the dark forest, trying to find an outlet, or a clearing with a view of stars, some way to identify where he was so he could apparate back to Hogsmede. He heard the howling of werewolves, and what memories that brought back...
He broke into a run, brambles, branches, and weeds reaching to grab at his clothes and face like disembodied hands. In his flight from the wolves, he disturbed a prowling snake - oh, the irony - and felt the sting of its bite on his leg, and again, and stumbled and fell as a numbness started to seep into that leg. He threw a disinterest spell at the snake, and it slithered off. But the wolves were coming, and they can smell panic; they were coming straight for him.
And so he cast - "Expecto patronum."
From the end of his wand sprang a butterfly, a lovely, bright thing, with delicate tracings of black and gold decorating the red of her outspread wings. The werewolves balked, snarled, and howled, confused and alarmed, before finally retreating back into the deep forest, pursued by this gentle creature of light. With this moment of freedom, Snape swallowed a general healing potion he carried for emergencies; it would slow the bite's poison long enough for him to reach Hogwart's, and his stock of more specific remedies. He staggered back to his feet and limped to an area where the trees thinned enough to place himself. He apparated to Hogsmede, and began the long, halting walk up to the imposing gates of Hogwart's.
She had showed so few people her Animagus form; she was not the type to agree to be registered, monitored, controlled. Ah, yes, that's why he lost her, wasn't it. Yet, despite the fact that he did, and she married that man he hated so, and that he was unable to save her life that terrible night, and that she left a boy behind with her lovely eyes set in that hated man's features, to remind him, over and over, of the mistakes of his past... despite all of that, he knew that she was something beautiful and good in this world, and that when he called, it would be the memory of her grace that would save him.